


The Soup

by bisexualknuckles



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Irondad, Rhodey is an ass, Sick Character, Sickfic, Tony Stark Has A Heart, but he's Tony's ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 00:46:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15449598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualknuckles/pseuds/bisexualknuckles
Summary: Peter gets sick while on his weekend "vacation" with Tony Stark, but lets on like nothing is bothering him. Tony of course notices, and knows he has to take care of him.





	The Soup

 

Peter could feel the sickness creeping into his sinuses the moment he couldn’t stop sneezing. 

Normally, he could tell when he was going to get really sick, or if it was just allergies. This time, though, it seemed like the sickness had come to stay for a while. On this weekend, of all times. 

After Tony had talked to Aunt May about Peter spending the weekend at Avengers Tower for a “internship vacation,” he had been welcomed into one of the largest buildings in New York. It seemed like a cold had also been welcomed into the home. 

Peter sniffled, a headache forming in the center of his face as he followed Tony Stark along the hallway. He was silently wishing he had a tissue, but was too afraid to ask for one at this point.

“If you come down here,” Tony was saying, gesturing his hands in that dramatic, ‘come hither’ motion. “I’ll show you my latest invention.”

“How do you find the time to work on stuff and save the world at the same time?” Peter asked, hearing how congested his words sounded. He tried to ignore that ache in his body, hoping that this would all go away by this evening. 

Tony shrugged, but that egotistical glimmer in his eyes was sparkling. “If I’m not out in the suit, then I’m in my lab. Ask Bruce, I never really leave unless the world is burning. Even then, I might just stay at home to work on something else.” 

Peter nodded, but in reality, he wasn’t _really_  listening. The sickness was overcoming him quickly, but he didn’t want to be a kill joy. He was finally getting to stay at Avenger’s tower, and all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep. 

“So, Bruce huh?” Peter droned on, his voice a little slurred from the congestion and fatigue fighting for control of his body. “You must be really good friends.” 

If Peter had been more alert, he might have noticed the light pink that flushed Tony’s cheeks as he said those words. Tony kept his gaze fixated ahead, clearing his throat.

“Yeah, he’s a good friend.”

The glass door slide open the lab, allowing them to enter. On any other day, Peter would have been estatic about having the oppertunity to see Tony’s lab. He might even let him work on something, but Peter was feeling like shit. 

He could feel a cold sweat break out onto his forehead, and everything bad he was feeling came on at once. 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter croaked, slicking his hair back with one hand. “I don’t feel so good.” 

Tony spun around at those words, stopping the long spiel he was going on about, and rushed to stand in front of Peter. 

He put his fingers under the boy’s chin, lifting his head to get a better look at him. His eyes widened, looking him up and down. 

“You’re really pale, kid. I think you should lie down.” Tony insisted, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, leading him down the hall once more. 

“I’m ruining the weekend, and it hasn’t even started.” Peter mumbled miserably, hanging his head. The lights were hurting his eyes anyways. 

“Don’t feel bad about getting sick, it happens to the best of us.” Tony said, patting his back in reassurance. He led him to a guest room, guiding him into the bed. 

Peter reached down to take off his shoes, casting them to the side. He could feel nausea flooding his stomach, so he laid on the feather-soft pillow, trying to stop the world from spinning. 

“Here’s a trash can if you need one.” Tony held it up, placing it on the nightstand. 

“You act like you’ve taken care of someone who’s been sick before.” Peter muttered, the corner of his mouth quirking up. 

“Rhodey is the biggest baby when it comes to being sick, don’t let him fool you.” Tony nodded, pointing his finger towards a space outside of the room. “I’ve taken care of that man more times than he probably remembers.”

“You’d make a good dad, Mr. Stark.” 

The words looked like they had been a punch in the gut to the older man, and Peter might have worried a bit more if he didn’t feel like his body was decending into the astral plane. His inky eyes got softer, but his expression was something of sadness, but a thoughtful sadness. The kind of emotion you felt when you knew something good wasn’t going to ever happen, but the thought of it still made you feel warm and fuzzy inside. 

“Get some sleep, Peter. I’ll come back in to check on you in a little bit.” Tony patted his shoulder, giving him a quick flash of a smile. Peter nodded, or at least he thought he did, before the world went dark. 

* * *

 

“Oh, god,” Rhodey coughed, covering his mouth as he walked in the kitchen. “You’re making the soup.” 

Tony turned, raising his eyebrows with a scowl. “Why did you say it so omniously?”

“Because it’s fucking nasty.”

Spices littered the countertops, and the chicken that had been chopped on the cutting board was spread in large pieces around the work space. 

“Ah, I love the smell of Salmonella in the morning.” Rhodey smirked, pointing at the mess on the counter. 

“Bite me, Rhodes.” Tony growled under his breath, aggressively shaking some garlic salt into the boiling pot. “I’ve always made you this soup, starting when we roomed together at MIT.”

“Oh believe me, I remember. You always remember when a man first tried to kill you.” Rhodey nodded to himself, unable to stop himself from grinning at Tony’s ‘ _I’m so done with you’_  expression. “I got really sick, and you thought you should make some soup with that little hot burner we kept in our room. You chopped chicken on your desk and ruined your english paper. The gesture was appreciated, but you had to take me to the hospital that night.”

“You had  _pneumonia_ , Rhodey!” Tony scoffed in an exasperated tone.

“Pretty sure it was the soup.”

Tony groaned in annoyance, continuing to pepper the broth.  

“I’ve never seen someone struggle so hard with chicken noodle soup.” Rhodey chuckled, leaning his hip against the counter to watch his friend at work. “So seriously, who is this for? I’m not sick, thank god.” 

“Peter.”

“I can’t believe he’s only sixteen, and you’re gonna kill him.”

Tony turned, placing a hand on his hip. “You love my soup.”

“Debatable.”

“Watch yourself, or I’m putting you in the soup, too.” 

Rhodey rolled his eyes, walking to the doorway. “God speed to that little wall-crawler.” 

“Get out of my house.”

* * *

 

Tony knocked on the door, hearing a light groan. 

“I’ll take that as you’re decent.” Tony said, holding the tray of soup as he opened the door. 

“Leave me alone to die.” Peter pretended to sob, rolling away from Tony so all he could see was his back. 

“I brought you some chicken noodle soup.” Tony chirped, moving the trashcan so he could place the tray down. “Homemade, actually.”

Peter perked up a bit at that, but went for the glass of water first. “Chicken noodle soup is the superior soup.”

“You’re absolutely right on that one.” 

Peter sat up, the color slowly starting to come back into his skin. Tony was happy to see the nap had done him some good, but he could still hear the congestion in his voice. 

“Eat up.” Tony held the bowl, and noticing Peter’s eyes widen a bit. 

The broth was not the normal, light colored shade that most chicken noodle soup was. It was a dark shade of brown, and bubbles were still popping and boiling like it was still being cooked on a stove. It smelled overwhelming like garlic and as if it had been scorched. 

Peter looked at the soup, then at Tony, and then back at the soup. “Uh, did you make this all by yourself?”

It was like when a parent asked their kid if they had really made that piece of macaroni art at school, and tried to be upbeat and proud about it, but they really had no idea what it was supposed to be. 

“You slept for like, three hours, and I was in there the entire time making this for you,” Tony informed him, pushing the soup closer to him. “You could at least try it.”

Peter hesitantly lifted the spoon, dipping into the bowl and pulling out an extremely long, brown noodle. “The chicken looks a little pink, Mr. Stark.”

“It’s fine.”

Peter raised an eyebrow, but cautiously lifted the spoon into his mouth. The sensation on his tongue was something to behold: and defintely not in a good way. 

The broth was too thick, and it tasted like burnt toliet water. Don’t ask Peter how he knew what that tasted like. He swallowed hard, knowing that to spit it out onto these nice, white sheets would have been outrageously rude. Those sheets probably costed more than his life. 

He tried hard not to grimace, but the feeling of it going down his sore throat was not soothing at all. He gasped, staring at the soup like it had personally come into his home and threatened him with a knife. 

“So,” Tony asked, a hopeful look in his eyes. “What do you think?”

“It’s...” Peter was searching for the right words, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “It’s really great, Mr. Stark! I really appreciate you working so hard on this for me.” 

Tony gave him a smug smile, lifting his head in triumph. “I knew it was gonna be good. Thanks, kid.” 

“I don’t think I’ll have anymore, though. My stomach is acting up again.” Peter lied, laying back against the pillow. 

Tony nodded, putting the soup back onto the tray. “I’ll leave it here for you, then. You can eat it later.” 

Peter bit back a look of disgust, and went for a small smile instead. “I really appreciate you taking care of me, Mr. Stark.”

Tony ruffled his hair, giving him a nod. “Anything for my kid.” Realization dawned on him, his face falling. “Wait, not what I meant.”

Peter tried not to grin, looking down at the floor. “Yeah, I know what you meant.” 

Tony looked embarrassed, like he desperately needed air. “Get some sleep and finish your soup.”

He walked out, allowing Peter to quickly jump out of bed and dump the soup in the toliet in the other room.

* * *

 

The next day, Peter felt a little better. Enough to actually get out of bed and go visit with Tony, at least. 

He kept his pajamas on, trudging through the house, looking for the living room. He found Rhodey, who was sitting alone, watching some program about jet planes. 

He took a seat next to him, giving him a little wave. “Hey, Rhodey.”

Rhodey smiled, looking him over. “Feeling better?”

“A little bit. I figured I should probably get up and do something.” 

“He fed you the soup, didn’t he.”

Peter barked out a laugh. “How did you know?”

“Do you know how many times he has made me that damn soup? It’s disgusting.” Rhodey shook his head with a fond smile on his face. “But he tries really hard.”

“I know. I told him I liked it, then dumped it down the toliet.” Peter laughed, shrugging his shoulders.

“I used to be that modest, but since he’s my best friend, I just tell him he’s shit at cooking.” 

They both laughed, quieting down when they heard footsteps from the other room. 

“Bonding time, I see.” Tony stalked into the room, his hands covered in grease. “You feel better, kid?”

“A little.”

“Thanks to my soup, huh?”

The proud tone he took was too much for Peter to handle. He couldn’t break this man’s heart. He tried so hard to do things for people, even if he couldn’t even manage to cook chicken noodle soup. He did save the world every now and then, so maybe he deserved a little break. 

“Yep, all thanks to your soup.” Peter assured, giving him a nod. 

“That soup still haunts my dreams.” Rhodey interjected, crossing his arms. 

“The kid likes my soup, Rhodey. Why can’t you be like him?” Tony asked, sitting on the couch across from them. 

“Because I’ll tell you exactly how I feel about your shitty ass cooking.”

“I put all of my love into a pot of soup for you and get nothing in return.”

“You can have me vomiting it back up for you, if you want.”

“Get out of my house, Rhodes.”

“Blood, sweat, and garlic salt went into that soup for your ungrateful ass.” Tony chided, glaring at his friend. 

“ _That’s_  why it tasted like garlic.” Peter nodded in understanding, then looked at Tony. “Garlic salt in chicken noodle soup?”

“It’s my secret ingredient.” Tony nodded smugly, tilting his head. 

“It’s not very secret if it’s all I can taste.” Rhodey snorted. 

Peter snickered, covering his mouth. 

Tony clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Ungrateful, the lot of you. I’ll never cook for you again.”

“My day suddenly got ten times better.”

“Rhodey, I swear to god.”


End file.
